The Lady of the Shroud

"Not so, Rupert, unless it be that the Lord gies us in dreams what we inour spiritual darkness think are veesions." I roused up at this. WhenAunt Janet calls me Rupert, as she always used to do in my dear mother'stime, things are serious with her. As I was back in childhood now,recalled by her word, I thought the best thing I could do to cheer herwould be to bring her back there too--if I could. So I patted the edgeof the bed as I used to do when I was a wee kiddie and wanted her tocomfort me, and said:

"Sit down, Aunt Janet, and tell me." She yielded at once, and the lookof the happy old days grew over her face as though there had come a gleamof sunshine. She sat down, and I put out my hands as I used to do, andtook her hand between them. There was a tear in her eye as she raised myhand and kissed it as in old times. But for the infinite pathos of it,it would have been comic:

Aunt Janet, old and grey-haired, but still retaining her girlish slimnessof figure, petite, dainty as a Dresden figure, her face lined with thecare of years, but softened and ennobled by the unselfishness of thoseyears, holding up my big hand, which would outweigh her whole arm;sitting dainty as a pretty old fairy beside a recumbent giant--for mybulk never seems so great as when I am near this real little good fairyof my life--seven feet beside four feet seven.

So she began as of old, as though she were about to soothe a frightenedchild with a fairy tale:

"'Twas a veesion, I think, though a dream it may hae been. But whicheveror whatever it was, it concerned my little boy, who has grown to be a biggiant, so much that I woke all of a tremble. Laddie dear, I thought thatI saw ye being married." This gave me an opening, though a small one,for comforting her, so I took it at once:

"Why, dear, there isn't anything to alarm you in that, is there? It wasonly the other day when you spoke to me about the need of my gettingmarried, if it was only that you might have children of your boy playingaround your knees as their father used to do when he was a helpless weechild himself."

"That is so, laddie," she answered gravely. "But your weddin' was noneso merry as I fain would see. True, you seemed to lo'e her wi' all yerhairt. Yer eyes shone that bright that ye might ha' set her afire, forall her black locks and her winsome face. But, laddie, that was notall--no, not though her black een, that had the licht o' all the stars o'nicht in them, shone in yours as though a hairt o' love an' passion, too,dwelt in them. I saw ye join hands, an' heard a strange voice thattalked stranger still, but I saw none ither. Your eyes an' her eyes, an'your hand an' hers, were all I saw. For all else was dim, and thedarkness was close around ye twa. And when the benison was spoken--Iknew that by the voices that sang, and by the gladness of her een, aswell as by the pride and glory of yours--the licht began to glow a weemore, an' I could see yer bride. She was in a veil o' wondrous finelace. And there were orange-flowers in her hair, though there weretwigs, too, and there was a crown o' flowers on head wi' a golden bandround it. And the heathen candles that stood on the table wi' the Bookhad some strange effect, for the reflex o' it hung in the air o'er herhead like the shadow of a crown. There was a gold ring on her finger anda silver one on yours." Here she paused and trembled, so that, hoping todispel her fears, I said, as like as I could to the way I used to when Iwas a child:

"Go on, Aunt Janet."

She did not seem to recognize consciously the likeness between past andpresent; but the effect was there, for she went on more like her oldself, though there was a prophetic gravity in her voice, more marked thanI had ever heard from

her:

"All this I've told ye was well; but, oh, laddie, there was a dreadfullack o' livin' joy such as I should expect from the woman whom my boy hadchosen for his wife--and at the marriage coupling, too! And no wonder,when all is said; for though the marriage veil o' love was fine, an' thegarland o' flowers was fresh-gathered, underneath them a' was nane itherthan a ghastly shroud. As I looked in my veesion--or maybe dream--Iexpectit to see the worms crawl round the flagstane at her feet. If'twas not Death, laddie dear, that stood by ye, it was the shadow o'Death that made the darkness round ye, that neither the light o' candlesnor the smoke o' heathen incense could pierce. Oh, laddie, laddie, waeis me that I hae seen sic a veesion--waking or sleeping, it matters not!I was sair distressed--so sair that I woke wi' a shriek on my lips andbathed in cold sweat. I would hae come doon to ye to see if you werehearty or no--or even to listen at your door for any sound o' yer beingquick, but that I feared to alarm ye till morn should come. I've countedthe hours and the minutes since midnight, when I saw the veesion, till Icame hither just the now."

"Quite right, Aunt Janet," I said, "and I thank you for your kind thoughtfor me in the matter, now and always." Then I went on, for I wanted totake precautions against the possibility of her discovery of my secret.I could not bear to think that she might run my precious secret to earthin any well-meant piece of bungling. That would be to me disasterunbearable. She might frighten away altogether my beautiful visitor,even whose name or origin I did not know, and I might never see heragain:

"You must never do that, Aunt Janet. You and I are too good friends tohave sense of distrust or annoyance come between us--which would surelyhappen if I had to keep thinking that you or anyone else might bewatching me."

RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_.

_April_ 27, 1907.

After a spell of loneliness which has seemed endless I have something towrite. When the void in my heart was becoming the receptacle for manydevils of suspicion and distrust I set myself a task which might, Ithought, keep my thoughts in part, at any rate, occupied--to exploreminutely the neighbourhood round the Castle. This might, I hoped, serveas an anodyne to my pain of loneliness, which grew more acute as thedays, the hours, wore on, even if it should not ultimately afford me someclue to the whereabouts of the woman whom I had now grown to love somadly.

My exploration soon took a systematic form, as I intended that it shouldbe exhaustive. I would take every day a separate line of advance fromthe Castle, beginning at the south and working round by the east to thenorth. The first day only took me to the edge of the creek, which Icrossed in a boat, and landed at the base of the cliff opposite. I foundthe cliffs alone worth a visit. Here and there were openings to caveswhich I made up my mind to explore later. I managed to climb up thecliff at a spot less beetling than the rest, and continued my journey.It was, though very beautiful, not a specially interesting place. Iexplored that spoke of the wheel of which Vissarion was the hub, and gotback just in time for dinner.

The next day I took a course slightly more to the eastward. I had nodifficulty in keeping a straight path, for, once I had rowed across thecreek, the old church of St. Sava rose before me in stately gloom. Thiswas the spot where many generations of the noblest of the Land of theBlue Mountains had from time immemorial been laid to rest, amongst themthe Vissarions. Again, I found the opposite cliffs pierced here andthere with caves, some with wide openings,--others the openings of whichwere partly above and partly below water. I could, however, find nomeans of climbing the cliff at this part, and had to make a long detour,following up the line of the creek till further on I found a piece ofbeach from which ascent was possible. Here I ascended, and found that Iwas on a line between the Castle and the southern side of the mountains.I saw the church of St. Sava away to my right, and not far from the edgeof the cliff. I made my way to it at once, for as yet I had never beennear it. Hitherto my excursions had been limited to the Castle and itsmany gardens and surroundings. It was of a style with which I was notfamiliar--with four wings to the points of the compass. The greatdoorway, set in a magnificent frontage of carved stone of manifestlyancient date, faced west, so that, when one entered, he went east. To mysurprise--for somehow I expected the contrary--I found the door open.Not wide open, but what is called ajar--manifestly not locked or barred,but not sufficiently open for one to look in. I entered, and afterpassing through a wide vestibule, more like a section of a corridor thanan ostensible entrance, made my way through a spacious doorway into thebody of the church. The church itself was almost circular, the openingsof the four naves being spacious enough to give the appearance of theinterior as a whole, being a huge cross. It was strangely dim, for thewindow openings were small and high-set, and were, moreover, filled withgreen or blue glass, each window having a colour to itself. The glasswas very old, being of the thirteenth or fourteenth century. Suchappointments as there were--for it had a general air of desolation--wereof great beauty and richness,--especially so to be in a place--even achurch--where the door lay open, and no one was to be seen. It wasstrangely silent even for an old church on a lonesome headland. Therereigned a dismal solemnity which seemed to chill me, accustomed as I havebeen to strange and weird places. It seemed abandoned, though it had notthat air of having been neglected which is so often to be noticed in oldchurches. There was none of the everlasting accumulation of dust whichprevails in places of higher cultivation and larger and more strenuouswork.

In the church itself or its appending chambers I could find no clue orsuggestion which could guide me in any way in my search for the Lady ofthe Shroud. Monuments there were in profusion--statues, tablets, and allthe customary memorials of the dead. The families and dates representedwere simply bewildering. Often the name of Vissarion was given, and theinscription which it held I read through carefully, looking to find someenlightenment of any kind. But all in vain: there was nothing to see inthe church itself. So I determined to visit the crypt. I had no lanternor candle with me, so had to go back to the Castle to secure one.

It was strange, coming in from the sunlight, here overwhelming to one sorecently accustomed to northern skies, to note the slender gleam of thelantern which I carried, and which I had lit inside the door. At myfirst entry to the church my mind had been so much taken up with thestrangeness of the place, together with the intensity of wish for somesort of clue, that I had really no opportunity of examining detail. Butnow detail became necessary, as I had to find the entrance to the crypt.My puny light could not dissipate the semi-Cimmerian gloom of the vastedifice; I had to throw the feeble gleam into one after another of thedark corners.

At last I found, behind the great screen, a narrow stone staircase whichseemed to wind down into the rock. It was not in any way secret, butbeing in the narrow space behind the great screen, was not visible exceptwhen close to it. I knew I was now close to my objective, and began todescend. Accustomed though I have been to all sorts of mysteries anddangers, I felt awed and almost overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness anddesolation as I descended the ancient winding steps. These were many innumber, roughly hewn of old in the solid rock on which the church wasbuilt.

I met a fresh surprise in finding that the door of the crypt was open.After all, this was different from the church-door being open; for inmany places it is a custom to allow all comers at all times to find restand comfort in the sacred place. But I did expect that at least thefinal resting-place of the historic dead would be held safe againstcasual intrusion. Even I, on a quest which was very near my heart,paused with an almost overwhelming sense of decorum before passingthrough that open door. The crypt was a huge place, strangely lofty fora vault. From its formation, however, I soon came to the conclusion thatit was originally a natural cavern altered to its present purpose by thehand of man. I could hear somewhere near the sound of running water, butI could not locate it. Now and again at irregular intervals there was aprolonged booming, which could only come from a wave breaking in aconfined place. The recollection then came to me of the proximity of thechurch to the top of the beetling cliff, and of the half-sunk cavernentrances which pierced it.

With the gleam of my lamp to guide me, I went through and round the wholeplace. There were many massive tombs, mostly rough-hewn from great slabsor blocks of stone. Some of them were marble, and the cutting of all wasancient. So large and heavy were some of them that it was a wonder to mehow they could ever have been brought to this place, to which the onlyentrance was seemingly the narrow, tortuous stairway by which I had come.At last I saw near one end of the crypt a great chain hanging. Turningthe light upward, I found that it depended from a ring set over a wideopening, evidently made artificially. It must have been through thisopening that the great sarcophagi had been lowered.

Directly underneath the hanging chain, which did not come closer to theground than some eight or ten feet, was a huge tomb in the shape of arectangular coffer or sarcophagus. It was open, save for a huge sheet ofthick glass which rested above it on two thick balks of dark oak, cut toexceeding smoothness, which lay across it, one at either end. On the farside from where I stood each of these was joined to another oak plank,also cut smooth, which sloped gently to the rocky floor. Should it benecessary to open the tomb, the glass could be made to slide along thesupports and descend by the sloping planks.

Naturally curious to know what might be within such a strange receptacle,I raised the lantern, depressing its lens so that the light might fallwithin.

Then I started back with a cry, the lantern slipping from my nervelesshand and falling with a ringing sound on the great sheet of thick glass.

Within, pillowed on soft cushions, and

covered with a mantle woven ofwhite natural fleece sprigged with tiny sprays of pine wrought in gold,lay the body of a woman--none other than my beautiful visitor. She wasmarble white, and her long black eyelashes lay on her white cheeks asthough she slept.

Without a word or a sound, save the sounds made by my hurrying feet onthe stone flooring, I fled up the steep steps, and through the dimexpanse of the church, out into the bright sunlight. I found that I hadmechanically raised the fallen lamp, and had taken it with me in myflight.

My feet naturally turned towards home. It was all instinctive. The newhorror had--for the time, at any rate--drowned my mind in its mystery,deeper than the deepest depths of thought or imagination.